by Reid, Stacy
“No, I find myself unwilling. To list the eligible men of the ton, and their attributes and connections, makes me feel as if I am selecting a stud horse.”
“My dear, that is the best way to get it done. There are simply too many suitable options. What of Lord Cole? According to Lady Bristol, he is a fine lover indeed.”
Georgiana’s eyes cut to the dashing viscount chatting a few paces away. Curious, she steered Daphne in his direction. He snapped to attention when he spied them, admiration glowing in the gaze that settled upon her.
“Your Grace,” he said with a deep bow, his voice warm and inviting. “What an unmatched pleasure to see you tonight.”
His emphasis had her arching a brow. It seemed polite society expected her to select a lover.
“Lord Cole, a delight, I’m sure,” she said with a smile. They exchanged a few pleasantries, and after a few moments, she deftly extricated herself.
“Clearly, he is not an option,” Daphne murmured, accurately discerning Georgiana’s disinterest.
“I confess, this may prove to be an impossible challenge. Oh, Daphne, perhaps I was too hasty with my thoughts.”
“Certainly not. I think Lord Petersfield is ideal. He is in the card room. I will collect him.”
Before Georgiana could protest, Daphne hurried away. Though the earl was handsome and intelligent and charming, he stirred nothing in Georgiana.
“Your Grace?”
She turned to the footman, who seemed as if he had materialized from thin air. “Yes?”
He held forth a note. “I was asked to deliver this to you.” She took it, opened her reticule, and tipped him, then he melted away discreetly.
She flipped the note open.
Come to the gardens.
Georgiana frowned, perplexed by the lack of signature and not recognizing the bold scrawl. She scanned the room, wondering who had sent it. Curiosity had her slipping the note in her reticule and heading for the open French doors. Had Simon sent her the note? But wouldn’t her brother have signed it? It had been a while since he’d had cause to write her a letter, and she tried to recall his style of handwriting. She had appealed to him to help her investigate Nicolas’s nursemaid, who had disappeared without giving notice or informing her that she would be leaving. She had not even forwarded an address with a request for a character reference.
Georgiana pressed a hand to her stomach as an unknown disquiet twisted through her. She had never been one to sit in silence and endure ceaseless speculations, so she had tried to do something about it and had encountered a dark, ugly, immovable wall of silence. That wall could have simply been cold indifference or something far more sinister. She had used her influence and gotten Bow Street involved. They had returned a verdict of a runaway nursemaid…in three days, with little show of concern to do any more.
She pushed through the throng, heading for the gardens. She made her way down cobbled steps and ran into someone.
“Georgiana, I was just coming inside to claim a dance,” said her brother, Simon, the Earl of Fairfax.
“Simon,” she greeted, holding her hands out. “I’m delighted to see you. Nicolas misses you.”
He arched a brow at her gentle admonition then gripped her hands and made a courtly bow. “I miss him, too. I will visit soon.”
She tugged her hands from his and reached into her reticule. “Did you send me this?”
He took the note, scanned it, and then crumpled it into a ball before stuffing it into his left pocket. “Another one of your ardent suitors no doubt. You should put them all from their misery and show favor to at least one.”
She frowned. Simon made as if he would direct them back up the small steps to reenter the ballroom. “Shouldn’t we stay in the gardens? There will be more privacy and less noise.”
They could have met at her townhouse, or at Meadowbrook Park. The dratted man had insisted she abandon the estate and travel to town. He had done it from love, but his interference was annoying, for it tugged her back into the lushly beautiful limelight of high society and away from the tranquility she found in the country.
“Certainly. Walk with me,” he murmured.
She looped her arm with his, and they entered the garden and traveled deeper into the mazelike gardens where they would be assured of privacy. “Do you have news for me?”
He grunted. “I have thought long and hard about your situation, and though it pains me to even broach such a topic, I have a solution to suggest. The ton has been talking of your restlessness, your inattention at political dinners, your many refusals of society’s invitations, though you have been out of mourning for a full three years. You are not acting quite like yourself, and now, this unheard-of investigation you are demanding into a woman who probably simply ran away. As Mother tells it, you are refusing to select another husband. Perhaps you need to consider a discreet liaison.”
Georgiana’s breath hitched. “I believe I misheard you.”
“What you need is a lover,” he said, giving a decisive nod.
“Dear Simon, have you been hiding a sense of humor all these years?”
“I do not jest.”
Was her emptiness so evident for the polite world to speculate and for her brother to remark upon? It would not do for him to see the way his pronouncement rattled her, simply because she was planning to embark on an affair. That was her business, and not one her family should stick their noses into.
She was also quite taken aback by her brother’s liberal opinion. In the past, he, too, had been concerned with her propriety. Though she had thought it hypocritical, for both her husband and brother had had at least one mistress, but such an action was not considered a stain upon the refined airs of nobility they wanted to protect. The Hardcastle line had never endured a scandal or hint of impropriety. A thing she had thought impossible until she had wed the duke and had been on the receiving end of his gentle-but-rigid instructions of expected comportment.
“I did expect some reaction, even if it was to slap my face for my temerity,” he said softly. “I do not like how cold you’ve become.”
She did value Simon’s opinion, so perhaps she could partially explain her inability to assuage her current loneliness. “I cannot lightly embark on a scandalous affair that would most assuredly be remarked upon.” She had a reputation and a legacy to protect, to hone, and always she must be The Duchess, which was how the ton referred to her, for her son’s sake and their family’s reputation. It was not easy to dismiss so many years of ingrained lessons about what she could and could not do, but she was achingly desperate to let go the expectations that had been settled on her shoulders from her earliest memories. “Nor am I inclined to remarry any time soon, despite Mother’s hopes.”
The muscles underneath her fingertips tensed. “Georgie, surely you are lonely? You could be extremely discreet.”
Georgie. Surprising warmth burst in her chest at the shortening of her name and the memory that it brought of days gone by. How she missed the days when she had run barefoot in the glen and played in the snow by the lake making snowmen. But it was more than those happy childhood days she missed. She longed to be held, kissed, and embraced. Yes, she was lonely, so empty she felt like a marble effigy of her former vivacious self.
To be the wife and duchess of the powerful Duke of Hardcastle, she’d had to evolve from the young girl who had loved painting and music. Since her marriage, she had been molded tenderly, and at times brutally, into an unflappable, decorous, and serenely beautiful duchess who was praised for her wit and cunning intelligence. A simple word from her had seen reputations restored, men ruined, and wealth founded. Her reputation preceded her, and many lords and ladies coveted her presence in their drawing rooms, ballrooms, literary salons, and investment meetings.
Everything she was today she owed to Hardcastle for helping her achieve. His greatest desire had been to see their son taking the reins of his inheritance without his dukedom being beholden by debt and scandal, maintaining the Har
dcastle legacy. It was a desire she shared, and that was where her ambitions were directed, despite Nicolas only being six years of age. Her husband had trusted in her acumen and dedication to manage their son’s inheritance and see it grow into something powerful and respected, one their son would be proud to inherit.
“I owe Hardcastle much, Simon.” She’d found a hidden part of herself, and she would forever be grateful for his austere and exacting expectations for having revealed it. Now she was considered an influential force in society and a fashion icon the ton followed avidly and loathed in equal measure. Despite the fact Hardcastle had taken a mistress, he had supported Georgiana in all her endeavors, with kindness, with respect, and even love. It wasn’t that he had failed her by taking another to his bed, but that she had failed him by responding to his caresses with tepid passion, a reminder that had been driven home with painful accuracy.
Hardcastle had been gravely dignified. It had shocked Georgiana he’d had a mistress. She had fled to her mother in tears at the humiliation and had been scolded. Men of great nobility were expected to procure mistresses, because genteel wives were not built to satiate men’s baser urges. The entire conversation had been mortifying and illuminating. She had boldly approached her duke and made it known she would happily provide for his baser urges, whatever they were, though she couldn’t really imagine what they could possibly be. She had shocked him, and then she, in turn, had been shocked when he replied she was not a woman of passions, and she should not trouble herself.
“He had a most ardent desire to see our son’s legacy protected from debt and scandal,” she told her brother, pushing the memories aside.
“You do not owe him the rest of your life, Georgie.”
“You haven’t called me Georgie in years,” she said. She had missed the comfort of her childhood name and the free young girl the name had been made for.
Simon frowned. “It was a slip, unbecoming of a lady of your stature.”
“Truly, I do not mind. In fact, I would prefer you refer to me as Georgie.”
He slid her a probing glance. “And you are digressing. That is quite unlike you, dear sister.”
They reached a garden bench and lowered themselves. His dark-blue eyes, a reflection of hers, glowed with concern. “Confide in me, Georgiana. You are not acting yourself.”
“This is quite an indelicate conversation for us to have, wouldn’t you agree?”
He tugged at his cravat, flushing. “You are my dearest sister, though I pray you do not tell Ellie I said so.”
Eleanor was their younger sister and was considered the toast of the ton since she had entered the marriage mart this season. She was well loved by her family and was secure in the knowledge their brother was her doting protector and her staunchest defender.
Georgiana laughed. “I’ll try.”
His lips twitched, then he sobered. “I dearly wish to see you gain a measure of contentment. Even Mother wishes you would remarry. You are only twenty-six, my dear, and more beautiful than half of the women of the ton.”
“Only half?”
He scowled. “Be serious.”
She met his eyes, alerted to the discomfort in his tone. “And that is all, a wish to see me happy?”
“Yes.”
“I thank you for your sentiments, but I do not require my older brother to meddle in my life and advise me when I must take a lover,” she said with some amusement. “That I can do when I am ready.”
“You sequester yourself in the country and hardly attend the coveted events of the season, despite your numerous invitations.”
“I have rejoined society,” she stubbornly insisted, distaste of their topic of discourse stirring in her blood. “I’ve attended three balls and a musicale, and reopened our box at the theater this week.”
“You spend most of your time in Kent.”
“With my son.” Another pang pierced her at the thought of being away from her precious boy.
“Georgiana—”
“No, Simon, this is not what I wanted to speak with you of. I assumed you were dragged from your club to tonight’s ball to discuss my letters.”
He sighed. “I feel your concern is unwarranted. Servants disappear from their households all the time without a writ of notice. This is quite beneath your attention.”
She waved her hands in a dismissive gesture. “Rubbish.” She cleared her throat. “You did see in my letter that it is Jane who is missing?” Georgiana had made sure to inform him beforehand the identity of the missing worker, hoping to elicit his compassion.
“Nicolas’s young nursemaid,” he said flatly.
“Yes.” And the woman she had once come upon trembling and moaning with his head buried between her thighs. Her brother had been demeaning himself to dally with a servant in her household, a young girl who had clearly believed herself to love him. The scoundrel. Despite Jane’s fears, Georgiana had not dismissed her, understanding full well how easily she could have fallen for Simon’s ruthless charm. The ton did not refer to him as a rakehell in jest, though she also knew it was a carefully cultivated persona.
“The last time she was seen by anyone in our household was as she played by the lake with Nicolas. I will never forget the terror that tore through my heart when I spied him paddling in the water alone. Jane should have been with him. I simmered in my anger for hours and prepared to dismiss her, but she did not join the other servants for luncheon or dinner that evening. Our butler and housekeeper assure me Jane would not run away. She has a family who relies on the income provided to her.”
“And she is not with her family?”
She dealt him a look of affront. “I was thorough in my investigations. I paid a visit to her family in Lambeth. The last time they saw or heard from her was three weeks before her disappearance.”
“You visited them directly?”
“Yes.”
He seemed to draw patience from a well of forbearance. “Devil take it, Georgie, you are a duchess. You had no cause to…to…”
She touched his hands gently, halting the diatribe she could see coming. “Jane has been missing for weeks and no one cares. That is all the reason I need.”
Simon heaved a frustrated sigh and thrust his hands through his hair. “The report you sent me from Bow Street and the magistrate seemed conclusive. The girl ran away.”
The girl. She wanted to smack him for his indifference. “I saw you with that girl…in a very compromising position, might I remind you. I would believe you would have some sympathy for her plight.”
Georgiana stood and started to pace. A few seconds later she tipped her head to the night sky, gazing up at its vast beauty. “I cannot simply ignore the fact no one has heard from her.”
“Have you considered her family may have hidden her away because she is with child? That is not so uncommon.”
There was an odd note in his voice, and she leveled a stern gaze at him. “Did she tell you she was with your child?”
“No,” he gritted out. “I haven’t spoken to her since that day, four months past, and if you recall, I have not visited Meadowbrook Park since. But it is entirely possible she had other lovers. I…I was not her first.”
Was she overthinking the matter? She bit into the soft of her lip, fighting the tide of doubt pressing against her. “I’ve hired men to find her. Men who have scoured the countryside and even London, and do you know what I found? Silence. One so deep I am profoundly disturbed. Shouldn’t there be at least a rumor of some sort? Instead, there is nothing. I must do something. I cannot in good conscience ignore the warnings stirring in me,” Georgiana said softly.
He sighed in evident resignation and said, “I have reached out to my connections for help.”
Relief crashed into her. “Thank you, Simon. Though I do not appreciate you not saying so from the beginning of the conversation. I worried for naught.”
“Do not thank me yet,” he muttered, tugging at his cravat. “You believe something sinister is underf
oot, and I should be urging you away from any possible danger, not committing you to examining the mystery deeper.”
“What possible danger could I be in?”
“There is a man…” A myriad of emotions flashed across her brother’s face—uncertainty, determination…and was that fear? “What the hell am I thinking?” he muttered.
She frowned. “Simon—”
“My work for the crown has seen me dealing with a few men of…undesirable character and dubious connections.”
“Yes?”
“Dangerous men, Georgie. Men I shouldn’t even be thinking of bringing to your attention.”
“Are these dangerous men needed in finding Jane?”
“Only one’s expertise is needed, and I must be afflicted to involve him in this business.”
“Is Jane not worth it?” she whispered. Though she doubted the veracity of the danger these men might present. Simon had always been her protector and had thought everything his dear sisters encountered over the years to be a grave and terrible danger.
“There is a man… He is called The Broker.”
The Broker? “Yes?”
Simon grimaced and stood. “His real name is Rhys Tremayne, and even in that regard, there is doubt. But he is the man to ask for help.”
Doubt lurked deep in her brother’s tone.
“I sense hesitation.”
“His currency is not one you are familiar with. He does nothing for money.”
She folded her arms across her middle and tapped one of her feet, disliking the slight unease wafting through her. “Every man can be bought.” That had been her experience. Even she had been purchased at the age of sixteen for marriage. It had been Hardcastle who had settled an unmatched sum on her parents, who had been well pleased she had fetched such a worthy price. She had abandoned her foolish and romantic dreams of marrying for love and had become a duchess to a man three times her age.
“Not with money.”
“What would he want if not coins?”
“I don’t know,” Simon growled. “That is why I am so damned hesitant for you to bargain with him. I cannot pretend I need his services, for he does not deal with third parties, and that man is like the devil himself—he always knows when the truth is not forthcoming. He has a reputation for always knowing.”
